Search Results

“... Everywhere/todaythe irises insistedon waving their blue flagsHairy tongued thingswith mouthshanging openas if to fuck the airO la la la spring& dyingthe usual song            ‘Every flower in a garden/is a sign            of a complete failure’            the landscape designer declaredWhy not salute the treesThey take a long ...”

“... all daypersonifying plantsEvil NettleFascist Weedboing boingI do not want youmatter out of placeI rip you outI favour the desiredthe useful to me to me to me!meanwhile stars doing themselvesin the skyinsouciant celebrityassholes they don’t carewhy don’t they caredon’t theyCassiopeia angling the skyopen triangles mouths and teethof vanity, gri ...”

“... open all alongthe seam of autumnthere’s a gashin the mindan old slippinginto a reservoiryes/no        yes/nofrog splashalong the bus routea hinge of wingsbutterfly thoraxof the breathing possibleyes/noyes/nobees riddle the asterswe have not yet killedoff the monarchbutterflies who on the furtherflowers fold their wingsO! I am eager for ...”

“... just told her it would hold off.I am unreliable,once again proven unreliable.The weather app is no oracle.Knowledge of, knowledge that:it is raining.*It will have rainedby the time you read this.There are infinite plausible sentencesby which I mean grammaticalonly as long as this clause.It was a summer of cardinals.Crows bickered on lawnsacross the ...”

“... after Sappho, Fragment 58You who, like undergraduates, are always younggo in for the lyredo not neglectto put your hands in the air say WAAAAAAand wave the long night endless –As for me the dawn breaksupon my tender body turningstiff, my hair from black to white –I find myself changedin this light, my hips locked,an untwerkable ass.C’est la vie, que será –And you forever youngin the strobe of the clubthat makes night danceable –delicate animals holding me up in this air –Some live forever,girls – not I, not you –but some goddesses and the onesthey choose even the one who forgotto ask for endless youth ...”

“... converted to sociology and technocratic policy soon to be swept away by the coming community or no. I’m as surprised as you to be writing on politics. Who’s not. What’s not politics is not the social I sang to Hannah Arendt a little bird flying austerely in my mind’s ...”

“... total immersionall you who hope yet to surfaceI salute you, I on a far shorebut thinking of you as no windtears the bare branches away –There’s a stillness and another                stillness.There’s a whiteness whitening                the grey.There’s a fullness plain                as dayin the ...”

“... still alive.Yes I said to the studentwho wanted to analyse the fashion systemin Swift. There’s no endto beauty and ...”

“... For Anne-Lise FrançoisFor you I got up to see the moon.Say it was 4 a.m.Say then it was 8.30ish.These are not natural hoursbut hours of a kind, my little book of,a little digital scannable book.A telepathy toward.I know you feelwhat there is to feeland oh movement.Say it was a kind of moon              near half. Waning.              Phasing ...”

“... whose the powerThey are freezing to deathignored for now by the vicious hirelingswho blunt their techniqueson Arab prisonerstheir every translated plea a rusethey perfected in the mountainsand caves. Don’t be fooled.It’s rule or be ruled.You stupid sentimentalistswith your retro-neo existentialpalaver it means nothingtu-whit tu-whoo I’m singi ...”

“... One day her sister asked Mz N to have her baby. This was intriguing this was frightening as there had been no babies come thru her & to have a baby not her baby seemed a strong hard thing to split the body for. Shitting a pumpkin is what a friend of Shulamith Firestone said in the late 1960s it was like ...”

“... beach where dogs should be leashed but aren’t. Low tide strands the seaweed and two dead seals no one can call to help. There’s no one to call for help. A shore of men’s trash, twine, bits of mooring line, the house of what was once alive no I didn’t per se find my beach! but ...”

“... have said a lot: ‘Names are in people, people are in names.’ She was doyenne of the pseudonym. No other significant poet in English goes by initials. Hilda Doolittle also wrote under pen names – Delia Alton, Edith Gray, Rhoda Peter and Helga Dart – but she never published under any of them. Inscribing herself as H.D.  (well before Ezra Pound ushered ...”

“... The argument​ laid out in the first four poems of Some Say, Maureen McLane’s newest collection (Farrar, Straus, £20), encapsulates the one she makes in the whole book, and in all her poetry. The collection starts out in medias res, with the first poem’s title, ‘As I was saying, the sun’, taking a running leap into the poem itself: ‘& the moon and all the stars/you can name/are fantastic!’ This sets a tone of exuberance which is immediately deflated: ‘It’s not cool/to be enthusiastic ...”

“... Meehan Crist, Anne Enright, Lorna Finlayson, Lisa Hallgarten and Jayne Kavanagh, Sophie Lewis, Maureen N. McLane, Erin Maglaque, Gazelle Mba, Azadeh Moaveni, Toril Moi, Joanne O’Leary, Niela Orr, Lauren Oyler, Susan Pedersen, Jacqueline Rose, Madeleine Schwartz, Arianne Shahvisi, Sophie Smith, Rebecca Solnit, Alice ...”